


Protège-Moi

by orphan_account



Category: 2PM
Genre: M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junho’s been drowning for a year now, and he didn’t even step into the waves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protège-Moi

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 round of [kpop olymfics](http://kpop-olymfics.livejournal.com/) for the prompt **MBLAQ – It’s War** , with particular use of [this supplementary prompt](http://data.whicdn.com/images/48362086/tumblr_mg0mmxpTJm1qg6j5xo1_500_large.jpg). Originally posted [here](http://kpop-olymfics.livejournal.com/96953.html).

"That’s a wrap!”

Junho tugs his headphones down to his neck and grins up at Minjun when he comes out of the recording booth. “That actually sounded pretty good.”

Minjun hands him the lyrics and absently smooths down his hair from where his headphones have ruffled it. “Were you even listening? That was way better than ‘pretty good’. I sounded _amazing_.”

“You’re out of practice, old man.” Junho pushes his rolly chair back and glides over to the side deck. “You were off-key in several places.”

“I’ll show you off-key!” Minjun kicks at Junho’s chair rollers and sends him careening off to the left. Junho clutches at the soundboard for support and almost falls out of the chair. He glares at Minjun but can only hold it for a few seconds before they’re both laughing at how ridiculous he looks. 

It feels good. It feels great, actually. It’s been too long since they’ve played around like this, and far too long since they’ve been in the studio together. “Ahh, I’ve missed this.” 

“Me too.” Minjun grins at Junho and his eyes crinkle a little more than they did last year, fine lines fanning out from the corners. It’s easy for Junho to forget that Minjun is the oldest of them all, even if – he does the math – thirty-two isn’t old. Eleven years in the industry takes its toll on anyone though, and time hasn’t always been their friend.

After a moment he realises Minjun is still talking, and he supposes that’s a reminder that there are some things that will never change. 

“—concert,” Minjun is saying. Junho tosses the lyrics onto the master deck and tunes back in. “Since we have the meeting next week.”

“Hmm?” Junho gets up and pushes the chair under the desk, crossing to the monitor and saving the tracks. Minjun goes to the coat stand in the corner and retrieves his jacket. It has an ermine collar and Junho chalks up another one for ‘things that never change’. 

There’s a Russian-style hat to match the collar but Minjun doesn’t put it on straight away; he just watches Junho with eyes that were always too knowing when they got serious like that. “The comeback meeting,” he repeats patiently. “We’re all going to be there, you know.”

Junho gives him a perfectly blank look. It’s one he’s practised since he was fifteen and he’s very good at it now. “2PM is coming back after a three-year hiatus, of course we’ll all be there.”

Minjun spins the hat around on his finger and doesn’t look away. “Just making sure you remembered that.”

“How could I forget,” Junho replies sweetly, straightening the pages of lyrics and slipping them into a folder. He tucks it away in his messenger bag and smiles disarmingly at Minjun. “I’m the one picking Taecyeon up from the airport tomorrow. We’re flying to Seoul on Monday – if you change your ticket now we can all go on the same flight.”

Minjun sighs and finally slips the hat on, switching off the light in the booth and checking his reflection in the window glass. He tucks a stray hair behind his ear and straightens, giving Junho one last significant look. “It’s been over a year since…since then. I hope one of you has grown up.” He grabs his bag and heads out the door. “See you later, little bro.”

“Hey!” Junho shouts after him, hooking his arm through his bag strap and getting caught. “I’ve done my service! I’m a real man now!”

Minjun’s laughter carries up the stairwell as Junho struggles to extricate himself from his bag.

 

\- - -

 

After shutting up the studio, Junho makes his way downstairs to the carpark, where he unlocks his trusty Daihatsu with a press of his thumb. Even the economic upturn of 2017 couldn’t make Japan a cheap place to live, and while he could afford a bigger car he liked the ease of manoeuvring a little one through the hungry maw of Tokyo traffic. 

It’s a twenty-minute commute to his apartment, a studio in one of the ‘disaster-proof’ complexes that had sprung up in the last ten years, and it’s nearly 3AM by the time he reaches his door. He lets himself in and dumps his bag before pulling his sweater up over his head, and he’s seriously considering just sleeping in his jeans when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He sighs and taps his earring to activate the Nuetooth. 

“This better be good, Taecyeon, or you can walk from Haneda tomorrow for all I care.”

Minjun laughs, low and delighted in his ear. “You know he doesn’t really need you to pick him up, especially in that toy car of yours.”

Junho rolls his eyes and pads to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge and uncapping it. “My car is a perfect size for the eco-friendly traveller, thank you very much.”

“You know what they say about men with small cars…”

Junho takes a deep breath and tries to ignore Minjun cackling on the other end. “Hurry up and tell me what you want, _please_. I need to sleep.”

Minjun yawns in agreement. “Me too, can you believe we used to do this every night? It doesn’t even seem real to me, and I lived it.”

“Stop talking like a geriatric.” Junho looks longingly at his bed. “Come on, why did you really ring?”

Minjun’s silent for a moment and Junho decides he will just sleep in his jeans. He slips under the covers and starts plumping up the pillows. “Come _on_.”

“You have to settle the thing with Wooyoung.” Junho freezes mid-plump, suddenly wide awake. “I’ve let it go for over a year now, but we’re going to be working together again soon. Next week, man. Haven’t you had long enough?”

There’s a convenience store across the road from his apartment, and mounted above it is a 3D billboard advertising Coke. He’d left the blinds open when he went out and now there’s lights playing over his ceiling, slow, muted flashes of white-white-red.

Junho stares up at the ceiling as the colours burn, red blood on white sand and an unanswered question. He finds his voice. “Stay out of this, hyung.”

“Believe me, I want to.” Minjun sighs into his phone and Junho practices blinking along with the billboard. Blink. Blink. _Blink_. “I’ve never said anything about it, and I won’t mention it again. Unless I’m really drunk, in which case all bets are off.”

Junho throws his arm over his eyes but the light bleeds in around the edges, oozing under his eyelids and into his head. Not everything can be kept out. This, Junho already knows.

“Okay, I’m done,” Minun says. He lets out a little laugh but it’s not like back at the studio. This one’s a little bitter and a lot unsure. “I fly back tomorrow, so I’ll see you next week. Oh, and I’m excited for the song. We still make a great team, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Junho replies softly. “Night.”

Minjun chuckles. It’s better this time. “Good night.”

When his earring clicks, Junho drops his arm and stares up at the ceiling for another endless moment. Eventually he heaves himself up and heads to the bathroom, stopping by the window and wrenching the blinds shut.

He might as well have a shower now. Sleep won’t be coming for a long time yet.

 

\- - -

 

He’s grumpy from lack of sleep when he’s back in the car the next morning, taking the Kitagawa Expressway out to Haneda to pick up Taecyeon. The traffic does nothing for his mood, slow as treacle at this time of day, and he’s ten minutes late when he finally pulls up at the arrivals bay. Taecyeon is obvious even from the road, head and ears above the crowd, standing next to his luggage where he’s engrossed in a WristPad game. Junho toots the horn irritably and hopes the shock of the sound makes Taecyeon lose. 

Taecyeon looks around and his eyes light up when he spots Junho’s car, snapping off the WristPad and pulling his luggage across. Junho pops the trunk and gets out to help him but Taecyeon’s already stowed everything and just sweeps him into a hug instead. 

“You’re choking me,” Junho coughs in greeting. 

“Nice to see you too,” Taecyeon says happily and gives him a noogie for good measure.

Junho stomps back to the driver’s seat and contemplates speeding off while he still can.

“I thought you’d decided to leave me here to rot,” Taecyeon says, folding himself into the passenger seat and pulling the lever to push it all the way back.

“I thought about it,” Junho replies darkly, and puts the car into gear. He indicates and eases back out onto the road as Taecyeon settles back into the seat with a blissful sigh. “Why couldn’t you just get a taxi again?”

Taecyeon turns to him and flips his sunglasses up, treating him to a wink. “Since becoming a Hollywood star I’ve found myself developing unreasonable peculiarities. Now, whenever I’m in Japan I’ve decided I can only be driven around by someone who has performed to sellout crowds at Nissan Stadium.” 

Junho feels his teeth grind together and swallows so that he doesn’t accidentally rip out his caps. “Then hire a rental car and _drive yourself_.”

“As a Hollywood star,” Taecyeon begins piously.

Junho takes a hand off the wheel and slaps him. “One movie doesn’t make you a Hollywood star!”

“Shh,” Taecyeon says, flinging a hand out and pressing a finger to Junho’s lips. Junho swerves and narrowly avoids taking out a passing Mitsubishi. “Don’t burst my bubble.”

“Then don’t try to kill me!” Junho shouts, clinging to the wheel for dear life and glaring at the road. He blows out a deep, calming breath and after counting to ten twice he glances back at Taecyeon, who’s sitting primly in the too-small seat, looking contrite.

Junho exhales again. “I’ll probably regret this, but why don’t you entertain yourself by telling me about the shoot.”

“Great!” Taecyeon immediately brightens. “Byunghun hyung was amazing to work with, and it was just so surreal being on a set with Bruce Willis. Bruce _Willis_ , man. _Bruce Willis_.”

Truthfully Junho’s a little jealous but he doesn’t let it show. “Sorry, who were you working with again?”

Taecyeon happily launches into a detailed explanation of his character, who is unwittingly drawn into a devious international plot to kill retired general Bruce Willis. It’s all very elaborate and confusing with North Korean sleeper agents involved somehow and Junho can’t grasp the point of it at all. “But why were the North Koreans in Florida?” he interrupts. 

Taecyeon sighs. “Were you listening at all? Because _drugs_.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway we get the documents but then Jihyun noona reveals herself and I’m involved in a shootout and then begins my Hollywood legacy as I perform the greatest and most heartwrenching death scene _ever_.”

Junho punches the steering wheel and sets off the horn. He immediately bows to the car next to him then turns to hiss at Taecyeon. “You die?! Why would you just ruin the entire movie for me?”

Taecyeon flashes him the winning smile that got him into a Hollywood movie with Bruce Willis. “Sorry?”

“Apology not accepted. I’m not going to watch it now.”

“Junho ya!” Taecyeon sighs. “Wooyoung was so sure you’d like it, too.”

Junho’s had enough near misses on this trip and they’re barely back on the expressway – at the rate they’re going he’ll lose his licence before they get home. He keeps his eyes on the road. “You saw Wooyoung?”

Taecyeon nods. “Yeah, we hung out together in New York.”

“But I thought he was in Boston.” Junho snaps his mouth shut so hard his teeth click, and ignores the calculated look Taecyeon sends him.

“His school is in Boston, yes.” Taecyeon’s gaze is heavy on the side of Junho’s face and he busies himself by checking the fuel gauge and speedometer before giving the road his full attention. “But he had a couple of days off so we met up in New York.”

“That must have been nice,” Junho replies, his voice neutral. 

Taecyeon shrugs. “It’s not like we hadn’t seen each other recently. We met up after service, for that party you refused to attend.”

They’d kept their promise to all enlist together, but when they’d gone for pre-enlistment medicals they’d found that Junho and Minjun would be serving non-active duty, due to spinal trauma in Junho’s case and ongoing knee issues in Minjun’s. Since desk duty would take twenty-four months instead of the standard twenty-one, they’d made an amended promise to the fans – to return as a group in three years after enlisting, three years to the day. It gave their loyal supporters something to look forward to and gave the general public a date to watch, to see the growth of 2PM. 

It also gave the members an opportunity to do things for themselves, so by the time Junho and Minjun were given their discharge papers, Taecyeon was halfway through a drama and Wooyoung had moved to America study a course in design. 

“He’s doing good, by the way,” Taecyeon says suddenly, pulling Junho from thoughts of the past. 

“Good,” Junho replies, noncommittal. 

“He hands his final portfolio in this week, actually. Just in time, right?”

“How’s Khun?” Junho asks, a trifle desperately, and after the briefest of pauses Taecyeon launches into a story involving Khun’s eyebrows, his eight-month-old daughter and a bowl of mashed pumpkin that set as hard as cement.

They talk and laugh all the way back to the apartment, and thankfully the conversation doesn’t deviate to dangerous topics again.

 

\- - -

 

They have two full days before they’re due to fly to Seoul, and after Taecyeon spends the first one sleeping off his jet lag, they spend the second exploring Junho’s neighbourhood. They’re recognised by a handful of people and even sign the odd autograph but it’s nothing like the constant barrage of requests back in Korea, the incessant clicking of cellphone cameras, the squawks of recognition, the whispers of people doubling back and following them. There’s a sense of being owned, back in Korea, a feeling of obligation to the people, but in Japan it’s more like a distant kind of respect.

Junho loves admiration as much as the next man, has at times craved the attention and love, but these days he much prefers the muted interest of the Japanese, and he says as much to Taecyeon later in the day.

To his surprise, Taecyeon agrees. “It’s like this in America,” he says around a mouthful of food. They’re at a tea shop in Junho’s district where they sell a confusing blend of traditional snacks and western cakes. Junho orders the shortcake, since he doesn’t have to diet for at least another week, and Taecyeon gets a stick of dango, which promptly glues his jaw together. He pulls the remaining dumplings off the stick they’re served on and starts excavating his teeth. “Less people,” he grits out.

Junho nods and delicately bites into the strawberry on his cake. “Surely that will change, now that you’re a _Hollywood star_.”

Taecyeon twists his wrist and his jaw unsticks. He gulps in a deep breath and runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth. “Those aren’t dumplings, they’re weapons!”

“Good practice for your next death scene.”

“Ha, ha.” Undeterred, Taecyeon picks up the stick again and takes smaller bite out of the next one, chewing more carefully this time. “I don’t mean that less people know about us, just that less people are going to act like that. It’s a culture thing, too. We’ll never have the same exposure or the same expectations in another country that we’ll have in Korea. As much as it’s our home it’s just...” he trails off and rolls the dango stick around in his hands. “It’s less free.”

Junho’s cake has become very interesting. He stares at the cream frosting, the remains of the red glaze that had anchored his strawberry in place. “What do you mean by ‘free’?”

Taecyeon nibbles at the stick as he thinks. “Just…the world is constantly changing, moving forward. I can call you on your earring. There’s a cure for cancer in development. Gay marriage is legal in every US state except Texas.”

Junho scoops a hunk of cake up and shoves it into his mouth so quickly he almost chokes.

“And yet,” Taecyeon continues, “the Koreas still aren’t united. My grandmother asks me once a week why I’m not married and my sister can still be fined for walking down the street in a miniskirt.” He pops the last of the dango into his mouth and chews slowly. “Anyway, what I was saying is Korea is being left behind. I don’t know how to stop it, I don’t know how to fix it, but I do know I don’t want to live there for the rest of my life.”

“You can stay with me any time you want,” Junho says, then immediately regrets it.

“No takebacks,” Taecyeon crows, and steals the rest of Junho’s cake.

 

\- - -

 

Minjun calls to let them know he’s had to postpone his flight, so they arrange to meet up after dinner. Apparently he knows the owner of a low-key jazz bar in the back-back streets of Ginza, and they take a taxi so Junho doesn’t have to fight for a park.

“The driver’s lack of experience at Nissan Stadium was very unfortunate,” Taecyeon says sadly as they descend the steps into the bar. “I’m going to need quite the pick-me-up.”

“Shut up,” Junho says.

“Yah!” Minjun waves them forward. “Hurry up!”

The atmosphere is as chill as promised and they’re led to a booth in the back, situated so they can see what’s happening while at the same time maintaining a sense of privacy. Junho lets Minjun sit down first, then shrugs off his coat and relaxes into the plush upholstery of the bench.

Taecyeon looks around and nods approvingly. “Nice.”

“You want something to drink?” Minjun asks Junho.

He considers it. He’s not a big drinker but since they’re here… “Maybe an Asahi?”

Minjun claps him on the shoulder. “Good man. I’ll have a whiskey.”

“Shochu for me,” Taecyeon says, and tosses Junho his wallet. Junho opens it and sourly plucks out a 5000 yen note. Then, on reflection, another one.

“Hey!”

 

\- - -

 

One round becomes two rounds becomes six rounds, and while Junho stops early on he can tell the others are getting drunk when Minjun actually pulls out his own wallet and offers to pay.

Junho doesn’t drink much, as a rule. He hasn’t touched a drop since Khun’s wedding, and even that hadn’t been planned. He twitches at the thought and tries to brush it away physically, but just winds up hitting his own head.

He’s nodding off in the corner of the booth when Minjun startles him awake with a finger to the ribcage. 

“Owwwww,” he moans, and lets his head drop back onto the table. 

Minjun pats him sloppily on the shoulder. “Never been good at drinking, this one,” he shouts at Taecyeon, who is approximately fifty centimetres from Minjun’s mouth and therefore well within earshot. “Can’t handle it.”

Taecyeon nods solemnly and tips his empty bottle at Junho. “Makes him sleepy. Or reckless.” He upends the bottle and tries to catch the non-existent drops on his tongue. “Empty,” he says sadly.

Minjun bangs his tumbler on the table in agreement. “Useless!” he bellows. Junho turns his head to cool his cheek on the glass table top and spies a few of the remaining patrons giving them offended looks. He smiles lopsidedly at them and waves. Minjun continues at full volume. “Him and Wooyoung both, can’t do more than one.”

Junho lets his hand thump onto the table when the mention of Wooyoung finally works its way into his fuzzy brain. “Owwwww,” he moans again, pain on two fronts. 

Taecyeon sets his bottle down too heavily and knocks it over. He fumbles to right it, then stretches his hand out and drops it none-too-gently into Junho’s hair. “Junho,” he says. “Junho-kun. Junho ya.”

“What,” Junho mumbles. It’s not safe to lift his head. He doesn’t know much right now, but he knows that. 

“Why do you hate Wooyoung?” Taecyeon asks, and his voice might be thick from drinking but there’s an edge of real, honest puzzlement that Junho can’t fight in this state.

Minjun throws an arm around Junho and leans his full body weight on him. “Yeah,” he yells, breath hot and sticky in Junho’s ear. “What did you fight about?!”

It’s a simple enough question, and in this moment Junho wants to answer, wants to open up and share his secret, wants to cut at his scar and let the poison seep out at last. He almost tells them, too, pushing back with his shoulders and knocking Minjun’s hand away, reaching up to brush Taecyeon’s hand from his head. 

He sits up, stares blankly at Minjun’s hazy concern, turns to see Taecyeon’s confusion, and actually gets as far as “I—“ before the room spins a little, then a lot, and then what comes out of his mouth isn’t words at all and lands right on the ermine-trimmed collar of the coat in Minjun’s lap.

 

\- - -

 

“This is not how I imagined my triumphant return to Korea,” Taecyeon hisses at Junho out of the corner of his mouth. They’ve just passed through Customs at Incheon and are striding down to baggage claim a bit too fast for Junho’s delicate state. 

Junho sucks in a queasy breath through the fabric of his face mask. “It wasn’t part of my plan either.” The ground tilts a little and he clutches at Taecyeon’s arm. “Hold up.”

Taecyeon takes a step away and transfers the coat folded over his arm to the other arm, the one away from Junho. “Are you going to be sick again?” He looks horrified at the thought and Junho doesn’t blame him. 

He shakes his head. “Ahhh, why did you make me drink!” The announcement for their flight number sounds and the luggage carousel whirrs into motion. 

“No one made you drink,” Taecyeon says, which Junho has to admit is the truth, but then he steps forward and rubs comforting circles on Junho’s back. “I didn’t realise you were that weak to peer pressure, imagine all the things I could have coerced you into back in the day.”

Juno fumbles in his cabin bag for his bottle of water before remembering he had to throw it out. “I’m thirsty,” he whines.

“Oh, there they are!” Spotting their bags, Taecyeon ducks forward and grabs them, leaving Junho to wobble dangerously in his wake. Returning with both suitcases, Taecyeon hooks his cabin bag over his shoulder and motions for Junho to follow. “Come on!”

Junho takes a deep breath and follows him through the crowd. 

He almost loses him a couple of times but the shock of being left behind helps to jerk him awake, and when they finally emerge into the public area, the sight of the exit doors makes him feel more like himself again. 

“Who are we looking for?” he calls to Taecyeon, whose superior height is helping him see over most of the heads in the crowd. “Juseob hyung? Minjae hyung?”

Taecyeon’s face breaks into a huge smile. “Neither,” he tosses over his shoulder, before diving into the crowd, and when Junho rushes after him he nearly barrels into his back a few seconds later when Taecyeon stops in front of a grinning Chansung.

 

\- - -

 

After one-armed hugs and some confusion as to where Chansung had parked the van, they’re soon on their way again, bags stowed and seatbelts on and back on Korean soil for the first time in a while. 

“Two for two,” Taecyeon says happily, earning a confused look from Chansung and a poke from the backseat from Junho. “Junho picked me up in Tokyo and now I have billionaire idol entrepreneur Hwang Chansung driving me back to the villa. This is the good life!”

Junho meets Chansung’s quizzical gaze in the rearview mirror and rolls his eyes, before pulling off his face mask and tucking it into his pocket. “You have to excuse his ego, he’s a Hollywood star now.”

Chansung grins. “Sorry for any disrespect, Mr Star. Would you like the guided tour package? I can discuss the various sights, if you’d like.”

They all look out the window on the driver’s side, where an industrial complex gives way to a series of muddy fields.

“No, I’m probably fine without it,” Taecyeon replies grandly, and Chansung bursts into peals of laughter. 

It’s as infectious as always and Junho wonders how he’s gotten by for so many months without Chansung’s laughter in his life.

“How long has it been?” Chansung wonders softly, and Junho’s surprised eyes fly up to meet his in the mirror again. He’d always had a knack for knowing what everyone was thinking, and it seems that time hasn’t diminished that at all. 

Junho frowns in thought. “I got out in March, which means you guys were released in December?” He glances at Taecyeon for confirmation, who nods. “Did you meet up before then?”

“Did we!” Taecyeon enthuses. “We had a party down in Busan, since Chansung and I were there. Khunnie even got approval from the missus to come.”

“What day was Khun’s wedding?” Chansung asks. “I know we got special permission to attend but I can’t—“

“September 6th,” Junho interrupts flatly. The date is imprinted on his brain.

The other two are silent in the front. Junho stares out the window as the muddy fields dry up and rank after rank of apartment buildings replace them.

“Ah,” says Chansung eventually, and changes the topic to his gym.

There are four in Seoul now, Chansung tells them, the newest having been opened two weeks ago in Sangbong, with another in Busan and even one in Bangkok. “That way I can visit Khunnie hyung,” he says almost shyly, before admitting it’s nice to check up on his goddaughter. “She’s very smart,” he says, as proud as if it were his baby and not Khun’s. “I buy her books in Korean and Thai and Khun and Suchin take turns reading so she can absorb different languages from a young age.”

“Not even a year old and she has you wrapped around her little finger,” Taecyeon muses, earning himself a punch from Chansung. “Hey, eyes on the road! I’m just saying, she’s gonna be a heartbreaker.”

“She can do what she wants with my heart if it’s freely given,” Chansung says stoutly, and Junho’s heart jumps in his chest as if to remind him it’s still there.

“How has the public been now that they’ve had time to get used to it?” Junho asks, sitting forward and hanging over the back of Taecyeon’s chair. He loops his arms around Taecyeon’s neck and casually strangles him. “I’m guessing it’s still a big deal to some of them, Khun getting married and having a kid and everything.”

“Yield, I yield,” Taecyeon wheezes and Junho relaxes his grip but keeps his arms in place. Taecyeon turns and blows in Junho’s ear, sending him flying back to his seat where all else would have failed. 

Chansung considers it. “Well, there was a lot of talk at first. You were still here then, so you’d know. And then Kanchana was born right before you got out so again there was buzz, both good and bad. But we said it all at the press conference in 2017, you know? We’d already said we weren’t going to live as idols any more, and Khun made the decision to marry, to become a father, he made those decisions as a man.”

Junho still remembers the flash of the cameras, the sheets of script in front of him, the sick feeling in his gut as he prepared to stand up with the others and announce the end of their idol days. He still remembers the strong grip of Wooyoung’s hand as he reached out to Junho, taking his cold hand, clammy with sweat. He still remembers the smile on Wooyoung’s face as he told him everything was going to be okay.

“This is the first day of the rest of our lives,” Wooyoung had said, voice ringing with conviction. He’d always had the power to make something true just by saying it. “It all begins here, Junho ya.”

And then they’d stood and told the people of Korea, the people of the world, that they were enlisting in a week’s time, and further to that they would not return to the entertainment world immediately upon release, but would instead stand together on stage again in three years.

“When we return,” Taecyeon had said, deep voice cutting through the hum of excited journalists on the edges of their seats, “we will not return as idols, hiding our true feelings and relationships, but as men, free to make the choices we believe in. When we return we may travel, we may marry, we may do as we wish, and we will feel no guilt for following our hearts. We thank our fans, all Koreans and all the audiences of the world who have supported us and made us feel welcome, and from this day forward we release you. Just as we are free, so are you, to love us, to hate us, to feel as you choose.”

The buzz of the reporters had started again and Taecyeon tilted his head minutely; as rehearsed, as one, the others member bowed deeply beside him. “From today, we will no longer be 2PM. And yet, from tomorrow, we will be 2PM!”

The room had erupted, noise and light and emotion spilling out over all of them, threatening to crush them if one member wavered for even a moment. Junho was frightened in that second, terrified of a future without limits, of freedom without bounds, and then Wooyoung’s hand had found his again. Junho had clung to it like a lifeline and with Wooyoung by his side he’d weathered the storm, making it through the conference and the rest of the week, gaining the strength to close that chapter of his life. All from the sure, strong grip of Wooyoung’s hand.

“Junho?”

Startled back to the present, Junho blinks, before looking around wildly to find they’ve stopped. Chansung’s still in the driver’s seat, eyeing him with confusion, but Taecyeon’s already out of the van and digging around in the back for their bags. 

“We’re here?” Junho asks unnecessarily, glancing out the window to find the familiar concrete walls of the parking lot under the villa.

Chansung just nods and looks at him, and since Junho knows from experience just how much he can see with that soft, dark gaze, he slides across the seat and heaves open the door.

 

\- - -

 

Upstairs is a combination of things exactly where Junho left them and things that he’s never seen before, and there’s just enough of a mix to make him feel completely out of time. His room is mostly the same – bed stripped bare, most of his clothes gone from his closet, but there’s a couple of old t-shirts folded in the corner of a drawer, covering an unopened iPad 2 back from when they were actually thicker than a sheet of paper.

“Whoa, that’s vintage!” Taecyeon’s eyes light up when he wanders in unannounced and sees the box on the bed. “You could probably get a lot of money for one in mint condition like this.”

Chansung pokes his head through the doorway. “Except that it’s from a fan,” he chides, giving Taecyeon a disappointed look. 

“I’m the one they’d expect that from anyway,” Junho jokes, taking the box and putting it back in the drawer. “Don’t you remember that sasaeng story about me throwing out the letters?”

“Ah, those were the days.” Taecyeon eyes grow misty and fond. “If they’d really understood you they would have known that story was completely out of character. You’ve never once taken the garbage out!”

Junho throws a t-shirt at Taecyeon’s head.

 

\- - -

 

Minjun arrives a few hours later. He hadn’t asked Chansung for a ride and precedes another familiar face through the door. 

“Minjae hyung!” they chorus and Taecyeon is the first to reach him, pulling their former manager into a smothering bear hug of love.

“Oomph,” Minjae wheezes when Taecyeon puts him down at last, holding a hand out weakly for Junho to clasp. “I’d forgotten how…demonstrative you all were.”

“How is that possible?” asks Minjun, pulling some dried fish from his suitcase and hugging it to his chest. “You still see Chansung on a regular basis.”

“I’ll show you demonstrative,” Chansung promises, and throws Minjun over his shoulder and runs with him down the hall. Everyone ignores the shouts of “Yah! Yah! Hwang Chansung, you put me down! YAH!” and helps themselves to the juipo Minjun dropped. 

“Chansung’s special,” Minjae says eventually, and no one argues with that. 

The other two return a few minutes later, Chansung looking pleased and Minjun’s hair in disarray. 

“Did we not hug him enough as a teen?” Minjun ponders weakly to the room, sitting down at the dining table with a put-upon groan. Junho takes pity on him and starts kneading his shoulders, Minjun relaxing into the massage in approximately a nanosecond. “Finally, someone is looking out for their hyung.”

“Remember this when you write your will,” Junho says sweetly, and Minjun slaps his hands away. 

“No one loves me,” Minjun cries dramatically. “Only Wooyoung loves me!”

Junho’s stomach tightens predictably at this oft-repeated lament, and then his stomach seems to fall down to his feet and through the floor as a familiar voice drawls from the entranceway, “Oh? Does he now?”

There’s pandemonium in the kitchen after that as everyone except Junho fights to get to Wooyoung, to hug and pat and hold him and welcome him back at last. The chairs are all empty now so Junho slumps bonelessly into the closest one, fisting his shaking hands and trying to regain control of his limbs. It’s been a year, he thinks, one year and counting. It should have been long enough to fix things, to take these feelings away. 

He glances up and freezes when he sees Wooyoung looking directly at him through a gap in the bodies surrounding him, a crack of visibility between Chansung and Taecyeon. Junho gulps and looks away, eyes sliding guiltily to anywhere that isn’t _him_.

It should have been long enough, but it isn’t.

“Junho!” Minjae gives him a funny look. “Come on over and welcome Wooyoung back.”

It’s such a reasonable request coming from a man who used to give him instructions on a daily basis that age or not, Junho finds himself obeying, limbs locking and muscles contracting until he’s standing and walking over, extending a stiff hand. “Welcome back,” he says robotically, and he’s not even offended when Wooyoung gives his hand a critical look before taking it briefly in his own. 

Just like at the press conference, Wooyoung’s hand is warm and dry, and just like then, Junho’s slides in his grasp, slick with cold sweat. 

“It’s good to be back,” Wooyoung says insincerely, and farce over, they drop hands and step back at the same time, as if in silent accord. They used to have that, they used to have that weird mental connection, where they could know what the other was thinking and finish each other’s sentences. It’s almost cruel to see a shadow of it in the here and now, when they’ve never been further apart. 

Minjae is looking between them, obviously confused by the cool reunion, but Taecyeon steps in after a moment and pays off all past and future debts to Junho. “Minjae hyung,” he says, whipping out his phone with the calendar app already open, “can we talk about our schedule?”

Just like that, Minjae’s gaze sharpens, spine stiffening as he morphs into manager mode, and nothing short of a national crisis will tear him from his duty until every last appointment is arranged.

Taecyeon pats Junho on the head as they return to the kitchen and take their seats, but even his support can’t save Junho’s composure, and he can’t concentrate on anything for the rest of the day.

 

\- - -

 

Apparently Khun is delayed until tomorrow, so Minjae proposes they order delivery for dinner and leave the welcoming home meal until they’re all present and accounted for. Junho is more than happy to agree after the way the last celebratory event ended and they order in enough jjajangmyun and tangsooyuk to feed a small army, which means they wind up having just enough. 

“Ahh, I’ve missed that.” Taecyeon rubs a satisfied hand over his belly and gives them all a sleepy smile. “It’s good to be back.”

That’s not what you said yesterday, Junho feels like saying, but he bites his tongue. “You can’t get decent Korean food in America? I thought there were plenty of restaurants.”

“No, you can get good food,” Wooyoung says, and Junho’s eyes fall to his house slippers, where he notices a loose thread. “But it’s all BBQ, not simple stuff like this.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to go back to the basics,” Chansung rumbles from next to Junho, his leg flush with Junho’s so he can feel him talk. “It makes you remember simpler times.”

“Because everything’s so complicated now?” Wooyoung asks mockingly.

“We’re just older,” Chansung says gently. “We’ve done more, and felt more. It’s automatically more complex in many ways.”

Wooyoung nods to acknowledge the point and no one says anything for a while.

“So…” Taecyeon says eventually. “What’s tomorrow again, Minjae hyung?”

Minjae glances up from where he’s keying in a request for a taxi into his phone. “Hmm? Tomorrow? Oh, we’re going into JYPE at midday to start listening to tracks. Ideally we’ll have them finalised by next week so we can start on concepts, MV ideas and concert scheduling.”

Taecyeon crushes his beer can and flexes. “Bring on the rap making.”

Minjae stands and pats him absently on the shoulder. “Let’s worry about that later, okay?” He starts gathering up his things, shrugging on his coat and reaching for his messenger bag. 

“Going already?” Minjun asks. He’s sprawled out on the couch behind where Wooyoung’s sitting on the floor, stroking absently through Wooyoung’s hair. Junho can see that it’s longer now, brushing over his collar, and it’s a shiny black, looking untouched by dye. Junho wrenches his gaze away from Minjun’s elegant musician’s fingers and concentrates instead on what Minjae’s saying. 

“Tonight’s going to be my last full night of sleep for some time,” Minjae reminds them, stifling a yawn. “That’s if the little guy will let me sleep through the night.” Minjae’s son is teething and apparently the pain is enough to keep him restless at all times. 

“Good luck,” Chansung says seriously. “Kanchana went through a bout of it recently but she’s sleeping better now.”

“Khun should have married you,” Taecyeon says fondly from the other couch, and Junho closes his eyes so they don’t dart nervously to the one person in the room he can’t look at right now.

“And that’s my taxi,” Minjae says as two honks sound from outside. “Not a moment too soon.”

“Don’t be silly, hyung,” says Chansung. “I can’t have children and Khunnie wants at least two more.”

“I believe I will sleep,” Wooyoung announces, kneeling next to the plates and methodically stacking them up and tossing the used chopsticks and napkins into a bag. “Some of us flew sixteen hours today and are staving off jetlag with only the considerable power of our will.”

“Want me to sing you a lullaby?” Minjun croons suggestively to Wooyoung’s back.

Wooyoung tosses a dirty balled-up napkin over his head without looking and it lands squarely on Minjun’s face. “No, I think I’m fine,” he says as Minjun squawks and flails on the couch.

Balancing the dishes, Wooyoung rises from the floor gracefully, posture so perfect even with a mountain of plates in one hand and a garbage bag in the other that Junho actually has to bite his tongue to tamp down a sudden, unreasonable fury. How does Wooyoung do it, he wonders helplessly. How does he always manage to be so unflappable, so calm, so _right_. He hasn’t been back even a day and already he’s sending Junho’s life out of control again.

“I’m going to bed too,” Junho announces, after unclamping his teeth from his tongue, and though he manages to say good night to everyone, the coppery tang of blood fills his mouth on the way out of the room and follows him into restless dreams of white, white, red.

 

\- - -

 

Jinyoung isn’t technically part of the JYPE staff any more in anything outside an advisory capacity but he still manages to meet them at the office the next day. The building looks the same from the outside – almost derelict at the entrance, despite the huge posters covering each storey from the second floor up. Junho gets out of the van and walks over to the convenience store, before turning back and craning his head to see who the posters are of now.

Min and Changmin’s collaboration duo MINT is plastered next to Changmin’s solo album cover, 2AM still going strong even with three members doing their service right now. JJ Precinct’s fourth album sits above these ones and Junho admits that maybe adding the extra members and changing the name was a good idea after all. Next to that is 15&’s newest mini, a cute cover and the first to show their new name, 15&COUNTING. Baek Ahyeon’s theme song for the latest Yeo Jingoo drama, a surprise Hallyu hit in sixteen countries, occupies pride of place, and there, where their last album used to sit, is a white poster with a sketch of a headstone saying _2PM RISES…2019_.

Junho jogs back, nodding at a lone Chinese fan sitting outside the Dunkin Donuts, which is looking particularly shabby in the midday sun. She stares at him until he lets himself into the building, and when he glances out the window at the staircase he sees her scrambling for her phone to update the world. 

“How many times are we going to do the zombie thing, hyung?” he asks Jinyoung when he finds the right studio.

Jinyoung gives him a hurt look. “You don’t like it?” They’re all older but Jinyoung’s the most changed, having dyed his hair platinum blond for a movie role some time before. Junho personally finds it a little unsettling but admits the older man possesses the ability to look confident in any style. There are no lines around his eyes or mouth that weren’t there before but his face as a whole is tighter and shinier, and this is one of the things they were trying to avoid when they told the world they’d return as their own men.

Junho is at once profoundly grateful he’s part of a group who could recognise the future they wanted and sad that there are groups who’ll never find the strength or opportunity to forge their own paths. 

He doesn’t get the chance for further musings because Jinyoung claps and brings them to order, before sliding an envelope out from his inner suit pocket. “This is the plan you asked me to take almost three years ago.” He sets it on the table and Wooyoung reaches out and picks it up, turning it over curiously in his hands. “As instructed, I haven’t opened it, merely looked after it, which was really hard because I wanted to know what you said.”

Junho barely remembers writing it – they’d been so busy that week before they left. “What did we say?”

“To safeguard it until the time you reconvene and undertake preparations for the next stage of your career,” Jinyoung replies in a sing-song voice, as if quoting. 

“Wow, good memory,” Minjun says, impressed. 

“But we can’t read it yet,” Chansung says. He leans over and plucks the envelope from Wooyoung’s hand. “Khunnie hyung isn’t here.”

Jinyoung glances at his watch, then sends them all a dazzling smile. “Who wants lunch?”

 

\- - -

 

It only took six years but finally a Kristalbelli had opened in Seoul, surprising an overwhelming number of people who were convinced Jinyoung’s endeavours were doomed to fail. Junho still isn’t sure how someone could wake up one day and think “you know what the world needs, crystal hotplates” but then, no one had believed in da Vinci’s genius either.

The Seoul branch is at the untrendy end of Gangnam, closer to Sinnonhyeon station than anything else, but Jinyoung is quick to assure them it’s doing well and it seems to have a decent number of clients to Junho as they’re ushered into the empty VIP room. 

Which isn’t empty.

“Surprise!” shouts Jinyoung. 

“I thought you’d never get here,” says Khun, and that’s all he gets a chance to say for a long time as the rest of the members converge on him for the final round of welcome backs.

 

\- - -

 

Junho manages to steal one of the seats next to Khun, who immediately slings an arm around his shoulder and hugs him close. 

“You look good,” Khun tells him warmly, giving him a thorough once-over and a thumbs up. Khun is the only one who Junho thinks hasn’t aged a day – if anything he looks younger. His eyes look even bigger and when Junho tells him as much Khun laughs and says it’s because he gets so little sleep these days. When he is awake he’s trying to keep his eyes open as wide as possible so people don’t think he’s about to fall asleep on them. 

He demonstrates his eye-widening technique and Junho laughs.

“What are you doing now?” Wooyoung asks curiously, and Junho realises he’s taken the seat on the other side of Khun.

Chansung answers around a mouthful of pork. “He does a travel show on a Thai channel. MBC saw it and now he records the same segment in Korean too and they air it here.”

Khun grins indulgently across the table at him. “Thank you, Representative Hwang. Should I do my report on you now?”

Chansung ducks his head and mumbles that it won’t be necessary. Khun leans over and grabs the tongs, picking through the meat and putting some of the best cuts on Chansung’s plate.

“Yah!” Minjun gives Khun a scandalised look. “He won’t even taste that! Leave the good bits for the discerning palates, will you?”

“Don’t you ‘Yah!’ at me, old man,” Khun says equably, picking up a bit of gristle and lovingly placing it on Minjun’s place. “I’m an ahjussi with a family now.”

“Then we should be serving you,” Chansung says and politely gives the rest of the meat to Khun.

Junho sighs and puts his chopsticks down. “Are we ever going to eat?”

“Will anyone else get a chance?” Wooyoung says at the same time, pointing at the empty hotplate with his chopsticks. 

Shocked, Junho can’t help but look over, and Wooyoung meets his eyes with surprise and something else that’s locked away as quickly as it appears. “Obviously I’m not the only one concerned,” Wooyoung finishes smoothly.

“Less complaining, more restocking,” Taecyeon says cheerfully, loading up the hotplate with more meat. 

“Not to mention we have another grill here,” Jinyoung says, pulling off a section of the table to reveal another gleaming crystal dome. 

“Hyung!” Junho and Wooyoung chorus, and to prevent any further accidental unity, Junho keeps to himself for the rest of the meal.

 

\- - -

 

They return to the studio a few hours later with full bellies and a sense of belonging that Junho at least hasn’t felt for some time. It feels good to be all together again, to always have someone talking, to always have a familiar body close enough to touch. There’s something about humans being pack animals, he thinks, something to the idea that as a species we need a family to keep us sane as much as to keep us warm.

He’s never noticed in Japan because he always kept himself busy and had memories to keep him company, whether he wanted them to or not. But now, faced with the reality instead of the remembrance, he can only think that he’ll miss this when it’s over. Not that _that’s_ a good mindset either, giving them an end before it’s even begun.

They’re three songs into the screening process when Chansung raises a good point. “Where’s the letter?”

“What letter?” Khun asks, slipping his headphones off. 

Minjun peers at Khun over the top of his glasses. “I’d actually forgotten, but before we left we drafted a plan and sealed the envelope, then told Jinyoung hyung to give it to us when we came back.”

“I’ll get him,” Wooyoung says, and unfolds himself from his chair to hunt him down.

Junho looks down at his tablet, spreadsheet open already with YES, NO, MAYBE columns and two songs already in the NO. “How many songs?”

“As many as we don’t hate,” replies Taecyeon, tabbing into his email and scrolling through the new items. “Emma Watson says hi.”

Khun stares at him. “How do you know Emma Watson?”

“He’s a Hollywood star now,” Junho tells him at the same time Wooyoung returns with the letter and says flatly, “He doesn’t.”

Taecyeon chortles into his collar. “But if she did see you, on the street, and you said ‘hi’, she’d probably say ‘hi’ back.”

“Now that we’ve safely established her as a woman with basic human decency,” Wooyoung interrupts, handing Taecyeon the letter. “Read this, please.”

“With pleasure.” Taecyeon takes the envelope and cracks the seal. He pulls out a single sheet of paper and unfolds it with reverent hands. “’We the undersigned’, although technically we’re not quite undersigned, there’s further text and then our signatures, I vaguely recall having this gripe when we wrote it—“

Now that he mentions it Junho remembers it too. The throbbing in his temple is definitely familiar. “Keep going,” he grits out.

Taecyeon clears his throat. “’—do declare to willingly return and regroup 2PM on or before three months prior to the three years date as promised to citizens and fans’ was there a solicitor present when we wrote this because this pseudo-legalese is really offputting—“

“Taec,” Minjun warns.

“Okay, okay! Blah blah, ‘no less than two albums, one for the Korean market and one for the Japanese market, comprised entirely of songs of our choosing with no obligation for the title song to be composed by any one composer’ blah blah ‘after a promotional cycle totalling no less than six months inclusive of but not limited to music shows and concerts in both countries’ blah ‘limited television appearances as necessary’ oh here we go, ‘the members shall reconvene and vote to continue as 2PM indefinitely or retire the group forever.’” He shakes his head at the paper. “Then and only then does the undersigning take place, here are our names and stamps, see?” He flaps the paper at everyone.

“Well,” says Khun eventually. “That’s reasonable.” He doesn’t look too thrilled but Junho figures he’s the only one with a pressing commitment.

Chansung’s already flicking through his calendar. “I’ll need to reschedule some things but it should be okay,” he says. “I tried to keep it light, it was just difficult with the new gym going in.”

Taecyeon bites his lip. “I’m going to have some promotional work for the movie once post-production is done. Not much, since it’s only a minor role—“

Junho snorts.

“—but some.”

Minjun’s eyes find Junho’s across the table. “At least we can work anywhere, right?”

“Yeah.”

Junho wants to ask, but he doesn’t, so he waits. 

Khun delivers. “Wooyoung? What about you? Are you ready to be back?”

Wooyoung gives him a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

A lot has changed since they wrote that letter, laying out the terms for their future selves, but at least one thing has stayed the same, Junho thinks, and that’s Wooyoung’s face when he lies.

 

\- - -

 

There are hundreds of guide songs to go through, maybe even thousands, and though they work until nearly midnight Junho ends the day with only two in his MAYBE column and one in his YES. He hasn’t checked everyone else’s pages but he feels it will be much the same – nothing has leapt out and grabbed him aside from the one YES, which is Minjun’s anyway and was pretty much guaranteed to go in. 

They’ve just been driven back to the villa and are standing outside when Minjae steps out of a taxi. “Are you all ready?”

“For what?” Khun asks, confused.

Taecyeon snaps his fingers and points. “Ohhh, welcome back drinks, right?”

Minjae looks disappointed. “If you’re too tired…”

“I’m down,” Minjun declares, stepping forward immediately.

Khun’s puzzlement clears. “Oh, sounds good! I can come along for a Coke, at least.”

Taecyeon and Chansung both agree but Junho can’t think of anything he wants to do less. “No thanks,” he says. “Last time didn’t end so well.”

Minjun looks a little green as he pats the plain wool collar of his current coat. “That might be for the best.”

“I’m not drinking,” Wooyoung says flatly. “Now or ever again.” He turns on his heel and strides back into the complex, taking the stairs two at a time. 

Junho wonders if it’s too late to recant but Minjae’s already ordering another taxi for five. “Should be here in a few minutes.”

Junho turns wild eyes on Taecyeon, who gives him an encouraging smile and chucks him under the chin. “Chin up,” he says, straightening the collar of Junho’s shirt. “It’s a good chance to talk about things, maybe you can sort whatever it is out. And if not…” he trails off.

Junho really thinks this is the likelier scenario. “And if not?” he prompts.

Taecyeon drops his hands as the taxi rolls up. “Well, it’s a big villa.” He sketches a salute then gets in, squishing Khun into the middle. 

Junho watches them go, before turning to trudge despondently up the stairs.

 

\- - -

 

Taecyeon’s right, of course – it _is_ a big villa, since it was bought with the space requirements of six adult men in mind. Though Junho’s and Wooyoung’s rooms are on the same floor and they should technically share a bathroom, when Junho hears the shower running upstairs he takes the opportunity to slither downstairs and use Taecyeon and Minjun’s bathroom instead.

Without the benefit of being used on a regular basis by either Khun or Wooyoung, it’s definitely not as clean as the one upstairs, but the dazzling array of luxury bath products turns his eyes from the grimy tiles. Junho distracts himself by lathering up in some sort of Gucci shower gel which is great for about ten seconds until it sends him into coughing fits. He snaps the bottle shut and stands under the spray for longer than necessary in the hopes the smell will eventually wash right out of his pores.

After drying off Junho concludes that he may never again _not_ smell like this, and pads upstairs so full of regret he can’t even bring himself to blowdry his hair. He’s so thrown by the shower fiasco that his plan to avoid Wooyoung goes right out the window and he literally runs into him in the hall.

Wooyoung bounces off him and grabs the wall. “Watch it!” He wrinkles his nose and takes a step back. “Did you trip into a vat of Minjun’s body wash?”

Junho lets out a depressed breath. “I didn’t even use that much and now I smell like a perfumery.”

“Should we Febreze you?” Wooyoung asks and it’s so like it used to be, before everything, that Junho is startled into laughter, prompting an equally surprised smile from Wooyoung with that flash of something in his eyes again. It’s so fleeting but so familiar and Junho wonders what it could be when he realises they’re talking and laughing as if nothing ever happened, but it did happen and he can’t, he can’t do this right now.

“Good night,” Junho blurts and pushes past Wooyoung to stride blindly down the hall, running away again because it’s all he’s ever been able to do.

 

\- - -

 

“You look like shit,” Taecyeon tells him cheerfully the next morning when Junho staggers into the kitchen in search of coffee or a syringe of adrenalin or anything that will free him from the pitiless grip of sleep. 

“Huh,” Junho mumbles, grabbing Taecyeon’s mug of coffee and taking a hard, desperate gulp.

“Hey, get your own!” Taecyeon yelps, snatching it back. Minjun chuckles and pulls his own mug closer to his body and out of reach.

The mouthful of coffee was enough to start clearing the cobwebs from Junho’s brain and he stretches and yawns. “How would I do that?”

Something light hits the side of his head and skitters to the floor. Junho’s reflexes still aren’t ready for this so it’s a moment or two before he peers around and finds a sachet of instant coffee on the floor. He looks over in the direction it flew from to find Wooyoung leaning against the counter, twirling another sachet around with his fingers. “You could start with that.”

Junho bends and picks it up. “Thanks.”

Wooyoung shrugs and sits down. “The kettle’s on already.”

Junho nods and starts picking through the crockery cupboard, sticking his head inside to hide his flushed face. Just as he locates a mug, Chansung comes into the kitchen, stretching his arms above his head and causing his shirt to ride up. Wooyoung tsks and pulls it down.

“Morning,” Chansung says, giving Wooyoung’s hand a squeeze before smiling at them all. 

“Coffee?” Junho asks, since he’s still in the cupboard anyway.

Chansung shakes his head and goes to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of milk. “Not first thing.” He leans over Junho and takes out a bowl, then shakes some cereal into it.

The kettle clicks off and Wooyoung gets up to pour water into his mug, hesitating almost imperceptibly before turning to Junho and lifting it in a silent question. Junho pauses for a moment then extends his mug and watching in silence as Wooyoung carefully fills it. “Thank you,” he says politely.

“You’re welcome,” Wooyoung returns, equally politely, and they take their seats to an assortment of interested looks.

“Where’s Khun?” Junho asks quickly in an effort to divert their attention.

Minjun turns around in his chair and peers into the living room. “Did he sleep in?”

“Khun?” Taecyeon asks disbelievingly. “Has he ever slept in, ever?”

“He goes running in the morning,” Chansung replies placidly, pausing with a loaded spoon of cereal over his bowl. “He should be back soon.”

As if on cue the front door clicks open, and a moment later a dishevelled Khun appears in jogging gear. “Look at you all,” he says by way of greeting, admiring the full table as he pulls one foot up in a hamstring stretch. “Now I really feel like I’ve gone back in time.”

“You can never go back,” Junho says sharply, drawing more than a few curious looks. He takes a hasty sip of his coffee. “I mean, we’re thinking about the future, right?”

“We sure are,” Taecyeon agrees easily, but his eyes are knowing.

Junho takes another sip and lets the coffee burn down his throat.

 

\- - -

 

They’re back in the studio before lunch time and it’s another day of sampling the songs, checking music and lyrics where available and trying to make them fit. 

“I liked that one,” Khun says after a particularly catchy dance track.

Junho nods. It had a fun sound. “It’s good for Japan.”

“You’d know best.” Khun grins at him over his tablet. “You really like it over there, huh?”

Junho shrugs and changes the font size on his spreadsheet. “It’s just a different experience.”

“Better?” Chansung wonders.

“Not exactly.” Junho shrugs again and puts his tablet down on the table. It’s always easier for him to articulate when his hands are free. “Taecyeon and I talked about it earlier. It’s just…more free.”

“America was like that.” Wooyoung doesn’t look up from his tablet and his fingertips slide between programs as he frowns down at the screen. “They’re so open about some things that Korea seems almost medieval in comparison.” He double taps on the tablet. “It makes you think twice about the way of things here.”

“Hmm.” Khun strokes his chin thoughtfully. “You were there for a whole year, weren’t you? Your English must have gotten pretty good.”

Wooyoung laughs. “If by ‘pretty good’ you mean ‘good enough to order McDonalds’ then yeah, it did.”

“Don’t forget that time we went to KFC,” Taecyeon reminds him. “You even changed your drink to Mountain Dew. I’d never been so proud.”

“But why America?” Khun presses, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Junho’s ears prick up as he reaches for his tablet. He’d wanted to know this for too long, himself.

“Why not?” counters Wooyoung. He traces the surface of his tablet then taps it again.

Khun’s lips turn down at the edges. “Well, I mean it’s a great place with lots of opportunities. But you could have gone to school here or in Japan or even in China. Why did you pick America?”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but his fingers still on the screen. “It was far enough away,” he says eventually. He doesn’t look at Junho, doesn’t look at anyone. “I just needed to get away.”

“And now time’s getting away from us,” Chansung breaks in quietly, dispersing the tension before it’s had a chance to build. They queue up the next song and Junho tries not to notice how Wooyoung’s knuckles are white where he grips the tablet, white traced with red.

 

\- - -

 

By the end of the second day Junho has twenty-three songs in his YES and MAYBE columns, two of which are his and four are Minjun’s. Changddai comes to visit and drops off a chip of things he’s been working on and Minjae sends an email out to previous collaborators, asking them to submit. 

Junho’s done for the day but he can’t seem to gather the energy to get up from his chair and leave the studio. The vetting process is more exhausting than he remembers and he wonders if the break has anything to do with it. Once this would have been a habit, just another day in the life of 2PM. Now, for long stretches, it has become a chore.

He drops his tablet into his lap and sighs, and after a moment he’s surprised by a pair of warm hands landing on his shoulders. He cranes his neck around to find Khun.

“It’s stressful, right?” Khun asks, strong fingers smoothing across Junho’s shoulders. Junho lets his head fall forward and moans. 

“Mmmmm.” How could he have forgotten the healing properties of Khun’s magic hands. “Oh, yes, right there.”

Khun follows his command and kneads the juncture of Junho’s shoulder and neck. “Juseob hyung said we should be done by Friday. Then we can start nutting out which songs we agree on and which albums suit what.”

“Mmmmm.” Khun hits a particularly knotty spot and Junho hisses in pleasure. “Why are you already married, why aren’t you mine.”

“Should I get a divorce?” Khun teases, then tickles Junho’s ear and laughs. “Don’t tell Suchin I said that, by the way.”

“A year already.” Junho’s awake now. It’s still hard to believe that Khun will be returning as a married idol – even Sunye hadn’t come back in the end. “Did you get my anniversary card?”

Khun swaps tactics and starts gently pummeling Junho’s back. “I did, thank you. Only a handful of you remembered. Even Nichan forgot.” He guides Junho’s head onto the table and drums lightly on his spine. “Just you and Chansung. Oh, and Wooyoung. You three were the only ones who remembered without prompting.”

Junho’s eyes fly open and he stares blindly at the wall. “It was an unforgettable day,” he says thickly.

Khun’s movements slow and then stop. “Is that when it happened?” He crouches next to Junho and gives him a sad look. “Is that when you and Wooyoung fought?”

Junho closes his eyes. “It wasn’t a fight.”

“Then what was it?” Khun’s voice is equal parts concern and frustration. Junho knows exactly how he feels. “Why did two best friends turn to enemies just like that? How? Was it a girl?”

Junho can’t help but let out a surprised bark of laughter. “No. It wasn’t a girl.”

Khun’s eyes search his face. “I just don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Junho says, and deliberately turns away.

Khun sighs and stands up, brushing off his pants. “You know I’m here for you if you want to talk. I’ll listen. We all will, whenever you’re ready.” He turns and walks out.

Junho listens to his footsteps fade and wonders if that time will ever come.

 

\- - -

 

Khun’s words haunt Junho for the remainder of the day, echoing through his mind and getting sharper and sharper until they start to tear at the memories he’d worked so hard to hide away. He’s jumpy throughout dinner, every clink of chopsticks bringing up the ghost of cutlery gleaming on snowy tablecloths, every burst of laughter around the table reminding him of smiling heads leaning together while wedding guests drank and danced.

By the time they get back to the villa he’s shaking, and Chansung sends him off to the bathroom with a worried look. “Have a hot shower,” he suggests, handing Junho a freshly-laundered towel. “You might be coming down with something.”

“Symptoms appear twelve months after exposure,” Junho mumbles, taking the towel and wandering to the bathroom. He closes the door and undresses, turning on the tap and waiting for the water to heat up. He’s shivering now, teeth chattering in the steamy bathroom, and it’s so like that time that when he gets in the tub his legs buckle beneath him, too weak to hold him up. He folds to the floor of the tub and lets the water rain down over him, blocking out the world with white noise and white heat and turning his skin red. 

He’s had a breakdown in the shower like this only once before, and as soon as he makes the connection the memory washes over him like a wave on the shoreline, like the water beating down over his back.

“I don’t want to,” he whispers, “I don’t want to remember,” but the water is merciless and so is his memory and then he’s back in the past, where it all began.

 

\- - -

 

The day of Khun’s wedding in Phuket dawns bright and beautiful. Junho had expected nothing less from Khun, who not only sees beauty in everything but brings it out in things as well, and even the beach cooperates, giving them perfect white sand and crystalline waters, a shade darker than the sky. Khun looks clean and handsome in his dark trousers and open collared shirt, his bare feet sinking into the sand. There are no chairs for the guests and they just mill around casually on the beach, fanning out around a simple arch covered in local flowers, the blossoms giving off a gentle, sweet scent. 

“Ouch,” hisses Wooyoung beside him, and Junho turns to find him standing on one foot, a pained expression on his face. 

“What’s wrong?”

Wooyoung leans on Junho’s shoulder for support and lifts his leg, inspecting the sole of his foot and plucking out a shell. “This.” He flicks it away dispassionately and drops his leg again, but not before Junho spots the bright swell of blood. 

“You’re bleeding!”

Wooyoung rolls his shoulders and grins at him. “It’s just a scratch. Besides,” he glances over his shoulder, “the main event’s about to start.”

Junho follows his line of vision and sure enough, Suchin is crossing the sand, looking lovely in a red floral sundress with a matching bloom in her hair. 

Khun’s eyes light up when he sees her and the ceremony begins, moving along without a hitch save for a brief moment of confusion when Nichan can’t find the rings only for them to turn up a few moments later, inexplicably in Taecyeon’s pocket.

The ceremony itself is in Thai so Junho doesn’t get the full impact, but he thinks he’s been to enough weddings to get the general gist. They let out a cheer when Khun kisses the bride and Minjun makes everyone laugh when he calls for an encore.

The couple bow to the celebrant then split up to mingle with the guests, and Khun makes a beeline for Junho and Wooyoung. 

“It’s done!” Khun says, pulling them both into a hug. “She made an honest man out of me.”

“I for one will mourn the passing of your previously dishonest self,” Wooyoung tells him sadly, only cracking a smile when Khun pushes him away. 

“What happens now?” Chansung wonders, looking at the guests and turning a thoughtful glance to the cloudless sky.

Khun gestures expansively at the hotel behind them, sunlight reflecting off the swimming pool only metres from the beach. “Now we eat, drink and make merry,” he says, and no one needs to be told twice.

 

\- - -

 

Though the ceremony was simple, the reception is lavish, the ballroom of the hotel filled to the seams with family from both sides and celebrities from all over the world. Khun has always made friends easily and Junho has already lost track of the number of famous faces he’s seen making fools of themselves on the dance floor. 

There are no photographers today and maybe that’s why they can relax – all the pictures were taken earlier, out on the beach, only the closest to Khun and Suchin making the cut. Taecyeon laments that all the wedding photos will have their shaved heads in them and wonders aloud why Khun couldn’t wait till they were out of the military to tie the knot.

Khun just smiles and runs a hand through his own hair. “A man has to look good on his wedding day,” he says, and narrowly avoids a brawl by pointing out that at least he managed to get them leave to attend. No one can argue with that and Taecyeon goes to drown his sorrows in a bottle of free champagne, Minjun joining him soon after with a bottle of his own.

Chansung follows Khun around the ballroom as he meets and greets each guest, and after more than an hour of watching the proceedings Junho’s had enough. He smiles politely at yet another one of Suchin’s cousins and scribbles off an autograph. “When will it end,” he asks through his teeth. 

There’s an unopened bottle of champagne on their table and after a moment Wooyoung stands and grabs it. “Shall we?”

Junho is definitely ready to escape. “Let’s.” He picks up a pair of glasses and follows Wooyoung out, giving the dance floor a wide berth as soon as he spots Nichan attempting to vogue. They weave through the mostly-empty tables, abandoned by the guests in favour of the bar, and finally reach the terrace doors, where they make it out into the night. They descend the stone steps to the pool area and hurry through to the beach. 

The arch is gone from earlier and there’s nothing to indicate a wedding ever took place. “Ahhhh!” Junho yells, sprinting across the sand with his arms spread wide, a glass in each hand. “Weddings!”

Wooyoung follows at a more sedate pace, bursting out laughing when a wave sloshes on to the shore right behind Junho and soaks the cuffs of his pants. 

Junho scowls at the water, then laughs too, kicking out his legs and shaking off his feet. “Why does this always happen to me?”

“Fools rush in,” Wooyoung teases, moving down the beach and dropping cross-legged to the sand, well out of reach of the water. “Come back here where it’s safe.”

“Can I trust you?” Junho asks, wandering over to join him, sand clinging to his damp feet. He sits down next to Wooyoung and shades his eyes, gazing out at the horizon as the sun drops lazily into the sea. 

Beside him, Wooyoung stiffens, but then he sets to twisting the wire from the champagne bottle, and deftly pops the cork. Barely a wisp escapes the bottle. 

Junho holds out his glass and sighs. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Wooyoung pours. “Plenty,” he says lightly, but before Junho can ask he’s handing the bottle over and holding out his glass. 

Junho sets his glass down carefully and returns the favour. 

“To Khun,” Wooyoung says, turning around and lifting his glass in the direction of the hotel.

“To Khun,” Junho echoes, and they toast, glasses clinking together and catching the dying light of the sun. Junho sips and pulls a face, the bubbles sour on his tongue. “Ugh.”

Wooyoung drinks also, then holds out his glass and observes it unhappily. “Yeah.”

They take another sip, and another, and lapse into silence, watching the sunset. The sun finally departs in a blaze of liquid gold and Junho’s surprised to find he’s finished the entire glass of champagne in the meantime. He peers into his empty glass. “Huh.”

Wooyoung glances over, looking as relaxed as Junho feels. “Hmm? Oh, do you want more?” He leans over and tugs the bottle from where he’s dug it a little home in the sand. He rocks back onto his haunches. “Here.”

Junho hands his glass over, bemused. “Actually, shouldn’t I be pouring?”

“It’s a special occasion.” Wooyoung gives the glass back then tops up his own. He grins at Junho over the bottle. “Just don’t get used to it.”

“We should definitely go to more weddings then.” Junho takes a reflective sip and decides the taste gets better the more he drinks. It’s markedly less sour now. He smacks his lips. “I like this side of you.”

Wooyoung doesn’t reply, and Junho looks over to find him staring out at the water again. He looks like a statue in the evening light, still and unmoving, face as pale as stone. “Wooyoung?”

Wooyoung blinks and turns to him. “Hmm? Oh, sorry.” He tilts his glass to his lips and takes a big gulp, adam’s apple sliding cleanly under the skin of his throat. “I was just thinking.”

Junho turns around, angling his body towards Wooyoung. “Is everything okay?”

Wooyoung looks at him and opens his mouth and for a moment Junho thinks he’s going to say that it isn’t, that something is wrong, then he smiles and the moment is gone. “Tell me about your service,” he says instead. “Didn’t you say your commanding officer is a fan?”

Recognising a brush-off when he sees one, Junho obediently launches into an anecdote about Colonel Cho, a barrel of a man who ruled the Daejeon public office with an iron fist, and who, it turned out, also owned a copy of every one of their albums.

“And then he started dancing to Hanippun!” Junho laughs so hard he falls back onto the sand. The sky is dark now, black velvet speckled with stars. Sometime earlier the garden lights had turned on around the pool, giving them just enough light to see shadows and silhouettes. 

Wooyoung flops back a moment later, hitting the sand and letting out a laugh. “He really asked for you to be his assistant?” He turns his head and grins at Junho. “It sounds like love.”

Junho groans and rolls onto his side so he’s facing Wooyoung. “Don’t remind me.” He wriggles into the cool sand and curls his toes. The sand is nice against his heated skin, warm from the champagne. Everything feels good to Junho right now, and even though there’s a cool breeze coming over the water he feels warmed from the inside. It’s a combination of Wooyoung and the champagne, he thinks giddily. It’s a little intoxicating, if he’s not already drunk.

He stretches out a foot and pokes Wooyoung with his toe. “What about you? Your stories have to be better than mine. At least you do stuff.”

Wooyoung turns his head away. “There’s nothing, honestly.” He heaves himself up and reaches for the bottle. “Colonel Jo was more interesting than anything I could say.” He upends the bottle and only a few drops splash out. “Huh.”

“Colonel Cho,” Junho corrects slowly, watching Wooyoung’s back. His shoulders slump. It’s not like Wooyoung to forget a name. “Are you sure?”

Wooyoung downs his glass. “Yeah.”

“You know you can tell me anything.” Junho sits and waits for the world to right itself before getting to his knees and shuffling over beside Wooyoung. He’s twisting the glass in his hands, rolling it around so hard Junho thinks it might break. He lays an awkward hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder because he’s never been good at this. Comforting people, making them feel safe, that was a job for Khun or Chansung and they’re both back inside, a world away. 

“Can I?” Wooyoung wonders, and it’s his voice that breaks, not the glass. With his other hand Junho reaches over and gently takes the glass away. Wooyoung lets him and sighs, before dropping his head onto Junho’s shoulder, buzzed hair prickling through his shirt. “Give me a minute.”

Junho flicks his wrist and his watch face illuminates. “Okay.”

Wooyoung laughs and sucks in a ragged breath. “You are so lame.”

Junho stays quiet, listening to the rise and fall of Wooyoung’s chest, feeling each inhale and exhale ghost across his skin. The seconds pass and their breathing synchronises, both to each other and to the steady push-pull of the waves.

“Do you remember,” Wooyoung starts, eyes fixed on the water. Far off in the distance a boat flickers, lights at the fore and aft, warning unwary travellers that a collision is drawing near. At one end flashes a bright white – once, twice – and then one flash at the other end, a brilliant, dangerous red. “Do you remember the day we got our orders, when you and Minjunnie hyung went to admin and Channie, Taec and I went to basic training?”

It had been the last time they’d seen each other until they’d met at Incheon yesterday, catching up for the first time in forever with their boarding passes in their hands. On the day of enlistment Junho had felt like he’d been torn from his family, from the only brothers he’d ever known. “I remember.”

“It was so hard.” Wooyoung’s shorn head is scratching Junho’s shoulder and all the nerve endings in his body migrate to that spot. “It was like two of my limbs had been cut off.”

Heat pricks at Junho’s eyes. Wooyoung was always so calm, so collected, that it was easy to forget he felt as deeply as the rest of them. “Me too.”

Wooyoung continues like he hasn’t heard. “Taec and Chansung were moved to Busan, so at least they were together, but then I was sent to Yeosu by myself.” He pauses and Junho can imagine it, Wooyoung on his own, that quick, empty smile at the ready. “It was so hard.”

Junho can’t move much with Wooyoung leaning on him like this, but he braces himself and pulls his hand from the sand, dusting it off on his pants and reaching for Wooyoung’s hand. His dry fingers thread through Junho’s immediately and his grip is as strong as ever.

It’s nice to be the one Wooyoung is holding on to, for once.

“We’d all been together for so long that I didn’t even know how to act on my own.” Wooyoung’s hand is trembling but his voice is steady. “I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything.” He laughs, short and sharp. “I got a reputation as a stuck-up star.”

“You are a stuck-up star,” Junho reminds him and Wooyoung laughs again, more easily this time.

“True. But after that, I really made an impression.” He squeezes Junho’s hand, as if to prepare him for what’s coming next. “I got into a fight.”

Junho jerks back in surprise, pushing Wooyoung away. “You _what_?!” Wooyoung, always so in control of his emotions. Wooyoung, who never even talked to people he didn’t know. _Wooyoung_ had gotten into a fight?

Wooyoung rubs his head. “Thank you for that extreme reaction.”

Junho’s fingers close around a fistful of sand and he barely keeps himself from throwing at him. “A fight?!”

Wooyoung grins and rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes. “Yeah. Afterwards I thought about it, how it was something you’d do. You were always the impulsive one.” He draws his knees up to his chest and rests his head on them, dark gaze unreadable in the darkness. “Maybe I missed you.”

Junho moves forward on the sand again, his food brushing something hard. He gropes around and finds his discarded glass, and plucks it out and sets it carefully to the side. “I have that effect on everyone.”

Wooyoung is quiet for a moment, before letting out a deep breath. “It was this guy, this kid really. He was kind of weird, had never left his home town, couldn’t do anything right. He was telling this group of soldiers about something, lecturing them about recycling of all things.” Wooyoung laughs, a soft, fond sound, and Junho feels a pang of something in his stomach, a slow curl of resentment for the boy who could make Wooyoung laugh like that. “They were giving him a hard time and one stood up and shoved him, and the next thing I knew I’d punched him.” He holds up a hand and shakes out his wrist. “Nearly broke my hand.”

“Did anything else get broken?” Junho opens his eyes as wide as they’ll go and peers at Wooyoung in the darkness, trying to make out any fixes or enhancements he might have missed earlier in the day.

“No.” Wooyoung drops his hand again. “No, they didn’t hit me back.”

“And the kid?” Junho prompts, caught up in the story. “Was he grateful?”

Wooyoung throws his head back and laughs. “Minseo? Grateful? Not a chance. He followed me around for the next week telling me about the dangers of fighting between comrades and how the smallest battle could lead to civil war.” A floodlight clicks on and off in the pool area and in the brief flash Junho sees a tender expression on Wooyoung’s face. 

Junho watches him, or at least the vague outline of him, all he can see. “Then what?”

Wooyoung seems to shake himself. “Then time passed. I got used to him. We became…” He hesitates. “I guess we were friends.”

“Friends,” Junho echoes. The word feels strange in his mouth. Out on the black waves the unseen boat flashes again. White, white, red.

“He…” Wooyoung wraps his arms around his waist and seems to shrink in on himself. “It’d be a lie to say I didn’t notice how he admired me. And I didn’t have anyone else.”

There’s a sick feeling in Junho’s stomach now, something like that first bitter taste of the champagne on his tongue. He thinks he knows where this is going now. “Did he confess to you?”

The floodlights switch on again and stay on this time, the light falling short of where they’re sitting but shining bright enough to show Wooyoung’s face. His eyes glitter in the sudden illumination. “He just said it,” Wooyoung says, wonderingly, like he still can’t believe it, even now. “He just told me that he loved me as a man.”

The champagne has dulled Junho’s senses until this moment, has kept him warm even as the night breeze grew cool, but he starts to shake now, starts to shiver so hard his teeth click together. “What did you say?” he whispers, pushing the words out through unwilling lips. 

“I laughed.” Wooyoung’s fingers scrabble in the loose sand and he pulls his glass up from where he buried it, whipping his hand back and flinging it out at the water where it’s swallowed up by the hungry waves. He turns to Junho and his expression is tortured. “I laughed in his face, Junho! I told him he was confused, he wasn’t thinking, he didn’t know what he was saying. I told him to go back to the dorm and cool his head.”

Junho can’t stop shivering and he thinks he’s going to be sick. “Did he?”

Wooyoung sucks in a long, shuddering breath. “He went back to the dorm. And then he pulled the sheets off the bed and tied them to the roof.”

Junho forgets to breathe. “He didn’t—“ 

“No.” Wooyoung scrubs furiously at his face and when he drops his hand it gleams wetly in the light. “One of the other soldiers found him before he could do…anything. But he was so close and I sent him there, I made him believe I didn’t—“ he stops.

Junho can’t move his body. All he can do is sit there and shake. “Did you?”

Wooyoung stands then, so slowly, pulling himself to his feet like he’s a much older man. When he’s up, he stands defeated, posture bent in a way Junho’s never seen. 

“I don’t know.” Wooyoung’s voice is emotionless, empty. “There was something about him I was drawn to, his honesty, his spirit. I thought about it for a long time, after. And then I realised,” he stops and seems to steel himself, pours iron back into his spine and sets himself against the world. “I realised that I’d treated him more despicably than I’d even imagined, because everything I liked about him reminded me of you.”

Junho feels like he’s been punched, like Wooyoung has pulled him up and hit him and knocked all the air from his lungs. He pitches forward, throwing his hands out and catching himself on the sand, barely noticing when he lands on his champagne glass and smashes it, a shard slicing deeply into his palm.

Wooyoung whirls around at the sound and reaches for him. “Junho!”

“No!” Junho shouts, throwing his hands up to ward Wooyoung off. “Don’t come near me.”

Wooyoung had taken a step forward into the light, and Junho sees the colour drain from his face. “Junho…”

“No,” Junho says again, getting unsteadily to his feet and falling back, heedless of the blood dripping from his palm. “You can’t. You can’t do this to me!”

Wooyoung can only stare at him, stricken, as Junho turns and stumbles away, staggering across the sand. He runs away from more than Wooyoung that night, putting distance between him and a truth he’d hoped never to face.

 

\- - -

 

“Junho!” 

Chansung slaps his face again, harder this time, and Junho blinks back to reality, rising gratefully if groggily from the past. “I’m okay,” he croaks, as Chansung reaches up behind him and turns the water off. 

Chansung hands him a towel, concerned eyes searching his face. “You were in here for so long I thought…” he swallows. “I was worried.”

The bathroom is so steamy there’s condensation running in rivers down the walls, and a moment later Chansung’s hair has started to wilt and curl from the heat. Junho smiles tiredly at him and reaches up to smooth a lock behind Chansung’s ear. He drops the towel into his lap and leans back in the tub. He’s not ready to get up yet.

“Chansung ah,” he says after a moment. “Have you ever wanted something you shouldn’t?”

“Like what?” Chansung blinks at him. “Like…drugs?”

“No!” Junho coughs because he shouldn’t laugh. He doesn’t deserve that right now. “I just mean, like a thing. Or…a person. But you shouldn’t because you’re not good enough for them. Or something like that.”

Chansung drops his gaze. “Haven’t we all?” He gets up and grabs another towel, returning to kneel at the side of the tub and dry Junho’s hair. “Desire is natural. It’s a part of life. Sometimes that desire will be directed towards someone who desires us back, and sometimes it won’t be.” He drapes the towel around Junho’s neck when he’s done. “Everyone loves differently.”

Junho tucks the first towel around his waist. “But what if those feelings hurt 2PM?” He’s not shaking any more.

“Silly.” Chansung pokes his head. “Why do you think we had the press conference back then? It wasn’t about music or artistry or anything like that. It was so we could finally be free to make our own choices in life, and of course that includes love.” He smiles down at Junho, and there’s a wistful curve to his lips. “Just look at Khun hyung.”

Junho can’t really compare their situations. “That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t.” Chansung shakes his head. “Yes, it’s a different love, because you’re not Khun hyung, you’re not Suchin noona. But the point is always the same.”

“And what’s the point?” Junho asks, looking at up Chansung like he has all the answers in the world.

“Love,” Chansung replies simply and leaves him alone to dress.

 

\- - -

 

With Chansung’s words in mind Junho marches down the hall to Wooyoung’s room, the shaking having started again as soon as he’d pulled himself out of the tub. Everything is a memory of that night on the beach, the clenching in his gut reminding him of his cowardice back then, his denial until now. He raises a trembling fist to the bedroom door and knocks, and even now there’s a tiny part of him that hopes Wooyoung won’t answer, that wants to run away forever because that’s always been the easy way out.

There’s a clatter from inside and Wooyoung calls out, “Yeah?”

Junho swallows around the lump in his throat and twists the knob. He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Can we talk?”

Wooyoung’s sitting at his desk hanging up his headphones, and at Junho’s voice he tenses and almost knocks the headphones stand over. He thrusts out a hand to steady it, then takes an inordinate length of time to set it right. “I can’t imagine what we have to talk about,” he says acidly. He pushes his chair back and heads for the bed. “I was about to sleep, anyway.”

Junho’s palms are sweaty already and he smooths them nervously over the jeans he’d thrown on after getting out of the bath. “I…it probably won’t take long.”

Wooyoung pulls his sweater over his head, the static clinging to his t-shirt and making it ride up and flash his bare skin. Junho has seen Wooyoung shirtless a hundred times, a thousand – there was probably a time when he knew Wooyoung’s naked torso almost as well as his own – but that was a different time, a different place, and the brief glimpse just now is enough to make his mouth go dry. 

Wooyoung folds the sweater and places it neatly on the bedside table, then tugs his t-shirt down. He climbs onto the bed and sits on top of the blanket, facing Junho and looking at him expectantly. “Fine. Say whatever you want and then leave.” His lip curls. “You’re good at that.”

Junho’s shaking intensifies and he tucks his hands under his arms so they don’t give him away. “I don’t know where to begin.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s right, endings are your forte.”

It stings as it’s meant to. Wooyoung could always hurt him the most. “Why do you have to make this so difficult?”

“As opposed to what?” Wooyoung snaps, uncrossing his arms and punching the mattress. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Thanks for fucking me over last year, I really appreciated it’?” He shakes his head at Junho. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Junho pulls out the computer chair but doesn’t sit on it, clinging to the back with a white-knuckled grip. “I...” his throat closes and he struggles to clear it. “I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung snorts. “Okay. Thanks. Now get out.” He snatches a remote from the bedside table and hits a button, killing all the lights. Junho stands frozen in the darkness, too much like that night on the beach forever ago.

He doesn’t want a repeat of that night. He doesn’t want to live it ever again. “No.”

“Do whatever you want then.” Wooyoung’s voice is dismissive as he rustles the blankets, wriggling underneath. “I’m done.”

Junho fumbles his way around the chair and sits on it, waiting for his eyes to adjust, shapes gradually taking on placements and borders until he can make out the Wooyoung-shaped lump in the bed. “I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung ignores him, his breaths deliberately even and loud.

Junho rolls the chair forward, inching towards the bed. “I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung’s breathing doesn’t change pace but the sound rises to a whistle, as if he’s sucking in air through gritted teeth. 

Junho’s almost at the foot of the bed now. “I’m sorry.” He rolls another inch, and another, until his knees hit the end of the bed. “I’m—“

“Shut up.” Wooyoung doesn’t raise his voice but it feels like a slap. He rolls on to his side. “It’s too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Junho says. He doesn’t know what else to say. He reaches out and pats sightlessly on the bed until he finds Wooyoung’s ankle, but at his touch Wooyoung twitches and pulls his legs up to his chest. Junho sits back heavily on the chair and rests his empty hand on his knee. “You scared me.”

“You’re the one grabbing at my foot like a ghost,” Wooyoung hisses.

“No, I meant then. On the beach.” Junho lets out a deep breath. “When you told me…everything.”

Wooyoung is silent and it’s like the night itself is holding its breath, like time has stopped for both of them. Gathering every last grain of his courage, every speck of bravery that had deserted him last year, Junho leans forward and braces both hands on the bed. “I was scared, then. I was terrified. Not of what you said, or what had happened, but of how it made me feel. Of how you…” he presses his hands into the mattress and tries to remember how to breathe. “I was scared.”

Wooyoung rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “You were scared,” he repeats flatly. “I told you things…I opened up to you and _you_ were scared.” He laughs humourlessly. “Am I supposed to apologise now?”

Junho pushes off the mattress and feels his shakes start to subside, like even his body is recognising that he’s doing the right thing at last. “No. And I can never apologise enough for how I acted. But I can explain.”

“Oh, goody,” Wooyoung says, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Junho’s shaking has stopped entirely and he feels the onset of a wonderful calm. “I was scared,” he says, for what feels like the hundredth time, “because you said something I’d wanted to hear since the first day I met you. Something I ignored for years because of who we were and where we came from. Something I wasn’t ready to face until now.” He takes a deep breath and lets the last of the doubts go. “I love you.”

The room is silent in the wake of the words and Junho thinks that’s wrong, somehow, that the windows should shatter or the villa should crumble or the earth itself should rise up in molten fire because he’s finally voiced it, finally put a name to the feeling he’s denied since he was seventeen. All the fights, all the laughter, all those moments of mental connection had led to this, the only moment of truth he’s never allowed himself and the only one he’s lied to avoid.

When Wooyoung breathes again it’s like thunder to Junho’s ears, the crescendo to a song he hasn’t written yet. “Is that so,” Wooyoung says shakily, and Junho can tell he’s trying to keep the emotion from his voice. “How nice of you to tell me. Good night.”

“Jang Wooyoung!” Junho surges from his chair and clambers onto the bed, crawling up Wooyoung’s body until he reaches his chest. “That’s all you can say?!”

Wooyoung pulls back and half-sits up. “What am I supposed to say, Junho?” he grits out. “What does the script say I do here?”

You’re supposed to love me back, Junho thinks dumbly, frozen in place. You’re supposed to have loved me all along.

“Well?” Wooyoung demands, and since words haven’t helped him, Junho does the only thing he can think of and answers with his body.

He dips his head and his lips fall short in the darkness, landing on Wooyoung’s jaw where a pulse jumps in his throat. “What are you—“ Wooyoung gasps but Junho’s quick to recalibrate, moving up and over and getting his mouth home. 

Wooyoung’s mouth is open and Junho claims it with desperation, the brush of their lips electric and sending a current through Junho’s skin. He needs to be closer, and crashes forward blindly, kneeling down and pressing in and moving for that truth that’s always been out of reach.

Wooyoung recovers fast and responds faster, his hand twisting in Junho’s hair almost painfully, pulling him closer until he can’t tell where he ends and Wooyoung begins. Wooyoung sighs into the kiss, turns his head so Junho can trace the line of his jaw and sample the skin of his neck, and it’s only when Junho’s hand slips under his t-shirt that Wooyoung seems to remember himself. “No, wait.”

Junho freezes in place. “What?”

Wooyoung rests his forehead against Junho’s cheek and gently pulls his hand out and away. “It doesn’t work like that,” he says softly, but he doesn’t let go of Junho’s hand. “It’s not going to be that simple.”

“Nothing worth fighting for ever is,” Junho mumbles, drawing back and moving off Wooyoung, who sits up against the headboard and turns on the lights. He’s flushed from their efforts, lips pink and glistening, and Junho wishes he’d been more honest with himself a year ago, wishes he hadn’t run away and hurt them both. 

But maybe he needed this time, needed to live a little so he could learn what he was living for. He needed something to end so he could see the worth in starting again.

“You should go,” Wooyoung says, and when Junho looks horrified, he starts to laugh. “To _bed_ ,” he clarifies. 

Junho nods and gets to his feet, making his way to the door and glancing back at Wooyoung just before he leaves. He’s under the blanket again, looking at him sleepily. “Tomorrow’s a new beginning,” Wooyoung says, and stifles a yawn. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Junho whispers, and it sounds like a promise of things to come.

 

\- - -

 

The next day at breakfast Junho enters the kitchen to find Wooyoung and Taecyeon chatting over their bowls of cereal while Khun scrambles eggs at the stove. 

“Morning!” Khun smiles at him and holds up his pan. “Want some eggs?”

Junho shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak. He walks carefully across the kitchen and stops next to Wooyoung, who glances up from his cereal with an unreadable look. “Yes?”

Junho swallows and wonders if this is how they do it. He sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says formally. “Lee Junho.”

Wooyoung looks at his hand as Khun cranes his head around to watch and a lump of cereal drops off Taecyeon’s spoon and splashes back into his bowl. Junho surreptitiously kicks at Wooyoung’s foot. _Come on_ , he mouths.

After a beat Wooyoung takes his hand, pressing his fingers lightly to the scar on his palm before tightening his grip and shaking it. “A direct man. I like that. I like _you_ , Lee Junho.” He grins up at him then turns back to his cereal. “I’m Jang Wooyoung, by the way.”

“I know,” Junho says, as Taecyeon looks from one of them to the other, torn between confusion and glee. “I know everything about you.”

“No, you don’t,” Wooyoung replies, and tips his bowl back to catch the last of the milk. He pats his mouth with a napkin and smirks at him. “But you will.”

Khun switches off the gas and scrapes his eggs onto a plate, coming to the table and squeezing Junho’s shoulder on the way past. “A new beginning?” he asks, sitting down with a smile. 

“Guys!” Taecyeon yells, banging his spoon on the table. “Get in here! Junho and Wooyoung kissed and made up!”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes at Taecyeon’s choice of words but Junho just leans back in his chair and stretches. “Yeah,” he says, and grins as Chansung and Minjun join them in the kitchen. “It’s about time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remixed by the wonderful [hanippun](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hanippun/pseuds/hanippun) in two parts, [here](http://hanippun.livejournal.com/3922.html) and [here](http://hanippun.livejournal.com/3816.html)!


End file.
